


She

by JAKishu



Series: Moments with the Violin [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sherlock has feelings, Sherlock's Violin, beautiful music, drug burst, john is sherlock´s heart, violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11461227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAKishu/pseuds/JAKishu
Summary: Sherlock and her. But not a woman or the woman. Sherlock and his violin. Belong together and only let John in their small world.





	She

John remembers all the times he heard Sherlock play his violin. Remembers the true and honest feelings that flew through the air. Sherlock´s disability to show his feelings with words or gesture was erased out of John´s mind. It´s not a disability. Sherlock feels more than most and he was one of the few who was allowed to listen to Sherlock´s heart. He knows why many people think of Sherlock as a heartless, uncaring psychopath. But Sherlock holds his feelings back until he is save at home. John can´t imagine a reason why he only let his heart out in the open at home, mostly when he is alone.

His violin begins to sing right after a case often with disharmony until Sherlock had sorted his thoughts but then a rainbow of feelings dance through the room. John stops most times what he is doing and relaxes in his chair. Listening to Sherlock´s heart.

The cases that ended badly or not to the detective’s satisfaction let a melancholic melody come out. Often with sad or angry parts and John can sometime tell the difference if Sherlock is angry or sad at someone or himself.

Successful cases fill the flat with happiness and satisfaction through the notes he plays. Followed by quiet and smoothing songs to let the day end peaceful.

In special cases, meaning when John did something extreme cleaver, brave or was just the one who leaded Sherlock to the right place. Sherlock would play all of John´s favorites. How he can tell without ever asking was a mystery for the doctor.

* * *

Sherlock could hear Mrs. Hudson´s light steps on the stairs, she has something in her hands, something heavy, … no just big. Her steps a bit unsteady.

“John opens the door for Mrs. Hudson, please.” The ‘please’ was important, that way he made sure John would do it, because he was polite.

“Why can’t you do it? I´m washing the dishes.” John shouts it out of the kitchen. “Never mind.” He stops his work and opens the door for Mrs. Hudson who carries a tray with tea and fresh baked cookies.

“Thank you dear, wasn’t sure if I can open the door. “ She pets John´s cheek after he took the tray off her.

“You don’t have to do this every time you bake something.” John says as he overlooked the variety of bakery on a plate. “But, thank you we appreciating them, they look delicious.” He continued fast by the look on her face.

Mrs. Hudson goes over to Sherlock who ignore her present until now. “Young man don´t lay like this on the sofa all day, it´s not good for you. Believe me when I tell you that. I speak out of experience.” She never expected an answer and turned to John who had set down the tea and cookies on the couch table; he takes a cookie and also one of the cups and sits down together with Mrs. Hudson on the chairs by the fireplace, chatting about things Sherlock isn’t interested in.

Sherlock attention got caught as she tries to place her cup down on the table next to his chair and as she reached out to put the violin away that occupied most of the table he snapped.

“Don’t touch her!” Shocked she nearly let go of her cup and looked over to him. Sherlock set up on the sofa looking over to them.

“Sorry dear. I won´t touch your lovely violin.” She said after she came out of her frozen state.

“Sherlock. Don’t be rude, she just want to lay it aside so it would be safe.” John gets up and touches the violin without getting shout at it.

“It´s a she.” Sherlock says a bit quietly and turns around facing the wall. He continued to ignore both John and Mrs. Hudson but the wisped apology from John to her in his name was not unheard.

* * *

“How about we all calm down a bit and talk about it like adults?” John looked between Sherlock and Mycroft back and forth.

Mycroft came around twenty minutes ago with a case for a very board Sherlock who had tortured John´s ears with awful sounds made by his violin. Frustrated with the world John wasn’t sure whose fault it was but Sherlock started the brotherly fighting a bit more aggressive and wasn’t interested in the case Mycroft had for them.

After listening to the rude comments about cake and weight John had enough. Someone had to be the one that stops the childish behavior. Earning an angry look from Sherlock who stops his shouting at his brother and let himself fall on the sofa, not looking at his brother who stands in the living room or John who was sitting in his chair.

Sherlock´s own chair was occupied with the violin. Mycroft turned around and walked over to the chair.

“Don´t tou-! Sherlock begins.

“Shut up Sherlock, enough shouting.” John shouts, stands up and takes the violin back into its case. Sherlock was silent and Mycroft watched the whole thing with a lifted eyebrow. To his knowledge was no one ever allowed to touch ‘her’. Like his brother called the violin.

“Mycroft sit and tell us about the case.” John with his captain voice; no argument was taken and an adult-like conversation started in the walls of Baker Street 221B with the silent witness of a violin.

* * *

The night was late, wrong it was already morning. Too late to for sleep and get up early enough to call it morning and too early to stay awake and forget the sleep for the night. Sherlock and John were following a few lead for the current case, not very successful like John thought but that was only his opinion not the one of the great Sherlock Holmes who doesn’t care about sleep. He wouldn’t sleep tonight anyway.

Watching his flatmate walk up the stairs happy about having a case, a lead and a night full of experiments, research and thinking about the problem, John had to roll his eyes. The only thing he wants to do was sleep and that for a very long time. But ether Sherlock´s or John´s plan for the night would be come true.

The light in 221B was on and as they walked through the door they had the whole police force in their living room or at least it looked like it.

“Drug burst.” Calls Lestrade out, far too happily for bloody three in the morning. John accepting his fate walked over to the sofa and sits down, he tries not to get angry at Sherlock or Lestrade for destroying his plan but that could change depends whose fault it is. He highly suspects Sherlock that he had took something from the crime scene, piece of evidence or so.

“Why are you here, Lestrade. You know I´m clean.” Sherlock doesn’t look concerned or angry just irritated. “There is no reason to disturb our flat like that.” While talking his eyes move through the room. John can see what would happen as soon as the detective would lay his eyes on his violin where a police officer´s hand was dangerous close to the instrument and before his flatmate makes a scene John gets up and takes the violin out of reach for everyone and place it in Sherlock´s hand.

“How about you play something like usually at this time of night. I guess Greg here has already wakened Mrs. Hudson so you will do no harm.” John watches Sherlock look between his violin and the room full of people, turns around and starts to play at the window. He has already understand that no one except him and Sherlock are allowed to touch it and to keep the detective happy it was easier not to question the meaning behind it. He doubts that he would get an answer out of his friend.

* * *

Its Sunday morning and no shift at the surgery. A day like this can only bring one of two things. First and the most likely one is that Sherlock is bored and managed to change their flat into a chaotic mix of experiment equipment, case notes, music sheets, tea cups and clothes. Please don´t ask how he manages to let his clothes everywhere without meaning to. Like he said after questioned once by John.

Or alternative they would get a case what was the better alternative. Best something mystical like a locked room murder or a really, really cold case.

While John is having his breakfast comes Sherlock out of his room, he must have fallen asleep sometime during the night. Finally, who knows how long it has been since the man got a good night sleep.

“Good morning, Sherlock. Tea?” The nodding answer was close enough to a ‘yes’ and as he bought the sleepy detective his tea he got a ‘thanks’. Not bad.

John is always amazed how the same man can be full with energy and work for day and on others be like that, a not moving body with nearly no power where breathing is already too much and would be stopped if it wasn´t a reflex.

Sherlock on the sofa his back to the world, John starts to sort out his notes for the last case to finally write it down on his blog. Around eleven o´clock comes Mrs. Hudson upstairs. Completely ignored from Sherlock and chatting awhile with John. After a chat her usually complaining about the dirt in the flat follows and she started to dust the book case followed by the windowsills.

John let her, he had given up to stop her cleaning and tidying ages ago. If she likes to do it, she can. No one will stop her anymore. Except Sherlock; if she comes his experiments a bit too close.

… or to the violin which was ‘resting’ on the windowsill on a cushion. John gets up before Sherlock subconscious can remember that it- sorry she lays there. He takes the violin and put her down on the desk in safety. Without disturbing Mrs. Hudson´s cleaning or Sherlock´s sleeping.

John got more observant about the instrument. It wasn’t just a piece of wood which can be used to make beautiful music. It was so much more for Sherlock and for John too. He had begun to like- no love the violin. It was more than liking it was magic and beauty and tears and so many things John wasn’t sure how he could explain it or even understand how Sherlock let this kind of magic appear in their flat.

* * *

Lestrade knocked at their door of number 221B. A busy John opens because a busier Sherlock was fixing an experiment of his. It had nearly burned down the building. The reason for John´s grumpy mood and an evening filled with cleaning, tidying and dispose of burned things.

The detective, not as stupid as Sherlock sometimes likes to say, could feel the mood and didn’t comment it to not fuel the mood and let it end in a disaster. “Good evening John. Sherlock.” Very professional.

“Hi Greg come in. Sherlock is in the left over our kitchen.” And really as Lestrade walked around the corner he could see the sad remains of the table with lots of broken glass. Black burn marks cover the floor and the cupboards, even the fridge wasn’t unharmed.

“Lestrade what can I do for you?” Sherlock ask from the ground where he collected whatever he was testing, probably to continue the experiment later, poor John.

“I have a few cold cases from the department in New Castle you ask last week for. They came today so I thought it would be the best to bring them to you after work.” Knowing what kind of reaction his words would have he stepped back. Because Sherlock jumped up the second he heard the word ‘case’ or maybe ‘New Castle’.

“Finally, I was waiting the whole time for them. Why did it take that long to get a few files?” Sherlock reached out for the files but John was faster.

“Not a chance. First you will tidy that mess you left behind and maybe if you did a good job, only than you can have them. And before you start the cases are over fifty years old. Everything in there can wait for another few hours. So start cleaning.”

That wasn’t a joke on John´s side. Both Lestrade and Sherlock understand it imminently. “Greg, sit down, take a beer. One for me too you can tell Sherlock something about the cases while he is cleaning. Sherlock better get started. Who knows what we will miss in our conversation.” A bit of revenge from John but Sherlock starts cleaning even faster and if you compare his cleaning skills to previous cleaning missions he got better with the time. John did a good Job.

Lestrade grubbed two bear and follows John into the living room, letting Sherlock alone, cleaning. But how else do you encourage someone like Sherlock to do the cleaning, with black mailing and it works. John sits in his chair and takes one of the bottles Lestrade offers while the detective sits down in Sherlock´s. As soon as Sherlock is finished with cleaning and had his treat (files) their won´t be much sitting on Sherlock´s side. Just reading, pacing, doing research on John´s computer or jumping in action and running out of the house to follow a lead.

The two men had a nice talking until Sherlock came in twenty minutes later. “Kitchen is clean again. Remains of my experiment are taken care of and we will get a new kitchen table next Tuesday. Can I have the files now?” After a look from John. “Please.” John nod and Lestrade handed the thick folders over to Sherlock who was excited like a small child if given a surprise. It makes John smile.

While Sherlock was busy with the files John´s and Lestrade´s conversation continued from work to sport between a bit of ex-wife’s, ex-girlfriends, colleges and flatmate (who ignored them anyway). As Lestrade stands up to leave; he lays his hand on the table next to Sherlock´s chair and nearly touched the violin. Sherlock must have felt it somehow because he turns around the same moment.

“Don’t touch my violin.” Not as aggressive as usually but not friendly ether. Lestrade moves his hand quickly away.

“Sorry mate. Wasn’t intentional.” Sherlock, contented with the situation focus again on the files.

“Ignore it. He is very protective if you get close to her.” As Lestrade lifts an eyebrow, John said. “He calls it a ‘her’. “

“But you are allowed to touch it, right? I saw you before, last time I came for the drug burst for example. What does it say about him and you?” Lestrade questions.

“Don´t really care, Greg.” John was tired and says his ‘good bye’ at the door and sits back in his chair watching Sherlock at his work. It´s not that John wouldn’t care about the violin or the fact that only he is allowed to touch it but he knows it means he has a special place in his friend´s heart.

No brother, no motherly landlady, no friend who saved him from the drugs and occupies his mind; no one except a retired soldier had made it to this place in Sherlock´s heart where it was okay to touch the instrument on which he shows his feelings to the world.

* * *

Sherlock´s finger are caring softly over the wooden material of his beautiful violin. His fingertips sense the small scratch he left behind years ago at one of his lowest points. Every print he had let behind on her was prove for the life he lived.

He sits in his chair watching John making tea for them. He didn’t notice that he had started to hum one of his compositions. One he wrote for John only for his friend. No one else will ever hear it.

Sherlock had many of these songs, songs he wrote for John and most of it were the doctors favorite. It was easy to feel when the doctor likes something he plays. He never asks who is the creator of a master piece. Maybe he is not interested or he thinks it would bother Sherlock while playing.

His violin feels always so warm under his skin and Sherlock could feel himself relaxing. It wasn’t necessary to wear a mask around her or John. Both of them were allowed in his small word of emotions. Not a small world more like a rarely visit place only when he was safe. Safe and sure no one around him will hurt him with the knowledge they would gain seeing and hearing him play.

John came out of the kitchen holding two cups and placing one next to him. He sits in front of him and looks into Sherlock´s eyes. Sherlock knows what he sees; not his usually look of collective there was softness and warmth inside his eyes.

“Sherlock, why it that only I´m allowed t…?” John must have changed his mind. “Never mind. Everything is alright.” He lends back in his chair and enjoys the hot tea during a nasty storm outside their flat, smiling.

Sherlock also took his cup and lays his violin carefully next to him. ‘How could he let someone touch his violin that was the only thing he could let his piled emotions out. Except his heart, his precious heart.


End file.
